Mementos
by tan90
Summary: "Perhaps such a genuine smile was enough to ease her mind. Or maybe she was just pleased that the flower was sold. But the worried look on her face seemingly had vanished, so if her smile only cost one gil, then surely it was a good purchase." A short story in the perspective of Cloud about the mysterious flower girl at the back garden of the church.


Mementos: A Flower in Midgar

* * *

Whenever I get home, the first thing I do is clean myself off and change my clothes before heading back out. I think I'm just worried that I smell like gasoline.

It's a funny thing. I always thought I would miss the excitement of SOLDIER. Or the sense of fulfillment and purpose it gave me. But, life would go on with or without me, and here I am back in Midgar. It was around two months ago when Tifa asked me to grab a few things from the store, that fateful day. On the way back, I saw _her_ for the first time.

I don't really know how to describe her. Enchanting? Almost other-worldly, I'd add. She wore… a light blue sundress with some white stitching that ran down along the seams, along with some light brown sandals which complimented her otherwise casual appearance. In short, she didn't seem to stand out of the usual crowd in the sector. It was certainly a simpler outfit than what you would normally see around the sector, but by no means would I consider it plain.

I didn't see her face. Just her swinging braid as she walked into the church. I passed by that church like I always did, and I still don't quite understand what compelled me to turn my bike around, but I did so anyways and reluctantly followed after her into the church.

I am not much for religion. I have been into churches a few times before, but never on my own accord. So I knew the customs during the service, and I refrained from walking up and down the aisles to search for the mysterious girl because, as I figured, I could simply stand in the back and wait for the service to finish. After all, once it was over, she was bound to exit through the front just like everyone else.

And so, that hour and a half passed, feeling like the longest in my life and I quickly scanned all of the people as they poured out the entrance. Braid, light blue sundress, brown sandals, I searched for anyone who fit these characteristics. I know my eyes ran over everyone at least twice, but I still didn't find her.

That's fine, I can just head up the aisles now that the service is over. She's probably still sitting down in the pews somewhere.

But to my disappointment, she wasn't there either. At this point, I sighed and turned around to leave before I was stopped by a gentle hand on my shoulder. And as I turned around, I was greeted by a smiling old man with bifocals and a few gray whiskers. The priest, I recognized.

He asked me if I was a soldier. Usually, I'd feed people a small lie so they would leave me alone and I could continue with my day. Maybe it was the church setting or my subconscious desire to not lie to a clergyman, but I told him the truth. He nodded and mentioned he recognized the color in my eyes, which surprised me, as most civilians shouldn't have been aware of that characteristic.

This priest caught my attention, so I humored him for a bit longer. He discussed several topics with me; morality, guilt, and the like, admittedly it was a bit patronizing. But after a few minutes, right as I began to zone out his voice, I saw her.

The mystery girl. Her swinging braid just disappeared to the back room just left of the altar.

Finally, the priest mentioned confession. I immediately blurted out in agreement, and he smiled as he led me to the back rooms behind the altar. Perhaps the priest pitied me or thought believed I was another ex-SOLDIER desperately seeking spiritual help, whatever it was, I was incredibly lucky for him to hear my "confession" immediately.

So, during the confession, I stuck to halfhearted, vague, and generic responses, until it became blatantly obvious that I was telling the priest more of what he wanted to hear than what I was really thinking. So, once I felt that the confession was nearing its end, I needed to ask him whoever that girl was who walked into the back room after the service.

I distinctly remember him raising an eyebrow in suspicion, before reluctantly telling me that she was a volunteer who helped take care of the church and its garden in the back.

And so I thanked him before leaving the booth and followed the narrow hallways until I eventually found my way to the back entrance, and inevitably, the garden. It was already past afternoon, and the twilight sunset made a small pathway directing me to the small patch of flowers which lay just past the bushes.

It must have been a scene out of a painting. Or if it is how the saying goes, "life imitates art", then the two would probably be indistinguishable.

It was then, I saw her there, gently kneeling down and tending to the budding flowers. I had never seen something so beautiful in my entire life. And so, I stood there for a few silent moments, until she finally looked up to greet me with an amiable smile.

"Say, do you like Easter lilies?"

That question caught me completely off guard. Easter lilies? Admittedly, it was my first time even hearing the name.

"They're my favorite." I lied. She smiled softly and returned to tending to the flowers. I circled around to see the small patch she was working on, squatting down to look at it more closely. She would methodically check each petal of each of the flowers, sprinkling a white powder at its base, then watered it tenderly.

"Don't see many flowers around here." I commented out of habit. Without turning, she nodded her head in agreement.

"The flowers here are quite resilient because this is a sacred place. They say you can't grow grass and flowers in Midgar. But for some reason, the flowers have no trouble blooming here." I nodded my head, taking note of this such peculiarity.

"Do you like them?" She asked. I never put in much thought into flowers, but if it meant continuing this conversation with her, then I suppose I could learn to appreciate them.

"S-Sure." I let out, feeling bad about lying to her twice within just mere minutes of meeting her.

"You can take one home, if you'd like." She offered. I had to look away to hide my guilty expression painted with an optimistic smile.

"I'd love one."

She searched around the small patch before reaching for one with the most vibrant white glow. She clipped it at the base, wiping it free of dirt, then removed her garden gloves to pick it up with her bare fingers. Afterwards, she stood up and handed it to me directly.

She had the most vibrant emerald green eyes I had ever seen. It was an, almost unnatural glowing green hue. And finally, I could look at her face. She had very delicate, feminine features, with a soft feeling of comfort resonating from her gentle smile. She must have been around my age, maybe elder by one or two years, but the innocent radiance in her eyes makes her suddenly look younger.

Yet, as I looked deeper into her eyes, the emotion it carried was not without a twinge of disgust.

"_Y-You're a SOLDIER._" She whispered. This was the second time today.

I came to think of the color of my eyes. Bathed in Mako energy, they shone a pale light, which labelled me a SOLDIER. And for the first time, I so desperately wanted to erase it.

"Right." I muttered, bringing my head down and looking away immediately. Then, I awkwardly placed the flower into the side pocket of my bag, carefully making sure it wouldn't get crushed.

As I did so, she silently knelt down and returned to tending to her flowers. I bit down on my lip and silently cursed myself. Without another word, I saw my way out of the garden, leaving the church grounds through the side cobblestone pathway, dodging the entrance of the church and driving off with a lowered head.

That night, during dinner, I remember Tifa mentioning that I was more silent than usual. It wasn't that I didn't feel like talking, rather, I was lost in thought. Well, I was thinking of… anything really. Anything that could distract my anxious heart, yet this mysterious woman whom I had not even spoken to for five minutes seemed to keep drifting back in my mind.

It wasn't until I was laying restlessly in bed, I finally became comfortable with assessing troubled feelings. The past few years had hardened me to a point where I was unrecognizable from when I left my hometown at age sixteen. Yet, why did one singular person's horrified expression distress me so much?

And so, I decided, I at least deserved an explanation.

As if some higher power wanted to prevent me from reaching my justified "closure", I was given an extremely busy day of deliveries. But once my day was over, I headed straight back to the church, and was caught in yet another lengthy service. I did not recognize the priest this time, so I spoke to usher once I survived the service once more.

Skipping the small talk, I asked immediately about the flower girl who tended to the garden in the back yesterday. He stared at me for a few moments, probably assessing my character, before shaking his head. The usher told me that here was no such person. The garden grew naturally and didn't need any tending from a flower girl, and subsequently they had no such volunteer.

He was wary of me, which certainly was understandable. I did not carry myself with an inconspicuous manner and, after a particularly exhausting day of working, my appearance was certainly less than presentable. Despite this, I still felt distasteful for a church usher to lie so blatantly to my face. But I had no right to protest. If he was so adamant about withholding her existence from me, then I would simply need to figure it out myself. Without another word, I let myself out the church and shuffled through the cobblestone pathway which lead to the back garden. It was later in the afternoon than yesterday when I first saw her, so as I had feared, the garden was empty.

Now, I was back where I started just a bit over twenty four hours ago: without a trace of the mysterious girl.

I sighed and headed back to my bike, and upon mounting it and driving a few feet, I was greeted with the most abhorrent sound of scratching metal.

As if the world wanted to test the limits of my tolerance, I came to the realization that my tire was flat. It must have been punctured during the long day, and sometime during the long service the air pressure had depleted down to tire rim.

I cursed under my breath and walked it to the nearby shop, fortunately finding the mechanic whom I was acquainted with. He was just about to close up for the day before I caught him, and I nearly begged him to at least store my bike for the night. He begrudgingly nodded his head and allowed me to keep my bike in the garage, before notifying me that it would be at least another three days before he could begin working on it.

Once again, I was forced to accept this less-than-favorable turn of events and began the long walk back to the bar. The sun was beginning to set past the horizon, obstructed by the large piles of trash and seemingly permanent construction sites, until I realized it would be long past sundown before I would arrive home.

After around the first hour of walking, the regrets echoing in my mind were interrupted by a large crowd moving my direction. There were seemingly in a hurry, violently shoving past each other and shuffling away from the sunset in the horizon.

But, just beyond that bustling crowd, I recognized a very familiar face. She was looking around, trying to find out what was going on, but the apathetic crowd shoved past her violently. One person slammed directly into her, knocking her to the ground and sending the flowers she carried in her small woven basket scattered across the asphalt. She quickly bent over on her knees and began carefully picking them up, delicately placing them back into the basket by the stem.

Yet, the crowd was relentless. Many people seemed to ignore her, trampling over her flowers and continuing to shove her aside. And so, whatever nervousness I had from this unexpected encounter drained away as I rushed through the crowd. I quickly dropped down to my knees and began to help her pick them up.

"…What's going on?" I heard her mumble under her breath as I did my best to mimic her careful gestures.

"Are you alright?" I immediately asked out of habit. Without looking up, she nodded her head and continued placing them back into the basket.

"I'm fine." She tried to assure me. Without a second thought, I reacted to another incoming person charging through the crowd, violently shoving him aside and away from her and the pile of dropped flowers.

She was too focused on rearranging the flowers to notice, so I waited patiently for her to finish before blurting out the first thing that came into my mind.

"Don't see many flowers around here."

Once she was finished meticulously placing each flower in her woven basket, she stood up and dusted herself off.

"Oh these? Do you like them? They're only one gil." She offered, then finally looking back up at me. I heard the tone of her voice trail off, and took note of the muted horror she tried to conceal in her glistening verdant eyes.

And as she dodged our eye contact, she seemed to regret that she impulsively gave me such an offer. But without breaking my determined stare, I reached into my pocket.

"I'd love one."

She carefully removed another flower from the basket. This time, she wasn't so meticulous about choosing the most appealing flower, probably deciding it would be better to end our encounter quickly. Finally, she reluctantly handed me the flower and I slowly placed the gil into the small pocket in her woven basket. She maintained an uncomfortable face, turning her head downward to have her two overarching locks of hair cover her terrified eyes.

But, I couldn't help but to return to her the most genuine smile I had ever given in a long while.

Perhaps such a genuine smile was enough to ease her mind. Or maybe she was just pleased that the flower was sold. But the worried look on her face seemingly had vanished, so if her smile only cost one gil, then surely it was a good purchase.

And with a feeling a strong heat building up on my face, our unexpected encounter ended with an similarly unexpected outcome, and as she departed heading in the direction of the church, I continued in my direction with a little bit more bounce in my step.

After arriving back at the bar, I found a cold dinner waiting for me with an equally impatient Tifa. During our delayed dinner, I remembered her mentioning that I seemed in much higher spirits than normal. I chuckled softly and my eyes trailed toward the windowsill where I had placed the flower I bought in its small vase.

She asked me if something good had happened to me recently. Despite the long and tiring day I just had, I nodded my head in agreement. I made a new friend, I mentioned. She smiled but raised a single eyebrow in suspicion. A girl, she asked. I nodded my head again. She looked some mixture of surprised and nervous, before asking her name.

I immediately froze. That's what I had forgotten. I completely skipped over asking her name. Quite frankly, I didn't give my name either. I merely shook my head in dismay and sighed, before telling Tifa that I had forgotten to ask. She smiled softly and reminded me that I would get the chance later, which was enough to calm my anxious heart.

And so, I went to bed that night with only a single regret. But as the next day followed, I was almost thankful that I had forgotten to ask her name as it gave me something to look forward to once my work day ended. Finally, once my shift had ended, I took the bike I borrowed from Barret straight home; the first thing I do is clean myself off and change my clothes before heading back out. I think I'm just worried that I smell like gasoline.

Finally, I head back to that church that I always passed by on my way home, thankfully arriving right as the service is ending. Waiting patiently, I plan my idle small talk with the priest who has returned to minister the service, and executing it as soon as it ends.

Instead, he merely stared at me, quite surprised that I had returned once more. But I disregarded his patronizing comments and asked about the girl who he had mentioned before, the one who tended the garden. He looked back at me with a confused stare so I tried again, hoping to at least find out her name, but he shook his head. And so, I attempted to read his face, like the usher before who seemed to withhold her information. But I didn't not get so much as a flicker of doubt from his few words that would echo through my mind.

"A girl who tends our garden? You must be mistaken. No such person exists."


End file.
